Contentment Outside the Rat Race

I was talking to my husband tonight as our child was blissfully falling into a melatonin induced slumber about how grateful I am for what our life looks like at the moment. Honestly, it's the community garden project that our church farm is doing that has provoked this sudden burst of gratitude and contentment.

It has been such an absolute gift to discover the peace and joy that have been filling up my empty soul as I've weeded and planted, watered and fertilized, staked and pruned. It's crazy that a little garden plot lent to me on a hazelnut farm would be the catalyst for so much, but it's true.

When we lost our home group leader in a horrible car crash that injured his family, my world literally changed overnight. I just didn't know it at the time. I had no idea that friendships would change so drastically. And I certainly had no clue that the church I ran to the Sunday after our friend died would suddenly be a source of crippling anxiety just one month later. It wasn't really the church. It was the relationships within the church. The changes to those precious gifts that had once given me a sense of belonging were just too much for me to handle. So I stayed away. One week turned into twelve, and before I knew it, I couldn't remember the last time I'd actually attended. Even when some amazing things happened in my heart to heal me in that broken part at an Easter retreat, I still couldn't screw up the courage to walk back into those doors. I knew it was time, but it was just too hard.

Then came the garden. After awaiting dry weather for what seemed like eons, we finally were given the go ahead to get in there and begin planting. I put in my seeds and plants, having no idea what fruit was in store for me. Sure, maybe I'd get some lettuce or some peas, but something deeper? I had no idea. But it's true. Coming to that little plot of borrowed dirt on the hazelnut farm my church owns gave me the courage to step back into the doors of the hall we rent on Sunday mornings. But it's more than that. The garden plot has given my heart a chance to grow and heal, to find peace and joy again. I know that all I can do is put the plants or seeds in the ground and tend them as best as I know how, and that God really decides what grows and what bears fruit. I cannot make a seed do anything just as I cannot make the sunshine and warmth visit our little spot in BC longer than a day at a time here. (Boy, if I had that ability, you know I'd be using it about now!) In a sense, I'm partnering with God in my little assigned plot. I still don't know if my tomatoes or peppers will ever have enough sunshine or warmth to produce or if that spinach I've planted three times now will ever grow. I don't even know if I'll get more than just that one first harvest of lettuce. Everything must be held loosely at the garden. Even that is teaching me some pretty big internal lessons that maybe I'll be able to put into words someday.

And I've found the contentment and joy permeating other areas of my life too. We live at the back of a little town in a rented suite. We've got trees and moss and slugs in abundance. Our neighborhood is quiet. I have to be intentional about putting my child in social situations, for we could easily stay home all the time and enjoy just our little family save the occasional trip to the grocery store. My life looks very different than it did when I was a busy classical educator balancing Latin lessons with science and math, studying reformed theology and systematically putting everything from books to beliefs in neat little boxes. I don't spend hours at a coffee shop debating the latest doctrinal topics with seminary students, and I'm not busy writing curriculum or helping to plan classes for a mega church. I'm busy doing laundry and trying to keep up with the stuff that gets tracked into our house. I'm busy changing diapers and kissing owies, reading board books and making up games. My life is about making creative dinners, making the bed, planning when I'll plant kale or can peaches or pick raspberries. I have no idea what the latest shows on television might be outside of the little I see mentioned online, and I definitely am not entirely aware of the latest fashions. Yes, I had no idea how much life would change when I moved into marriage and a new country five years ago.

But you know what? I like this life. Sure, there is no disposable income or cute SUV for me to play with. And I don't have to dress up for work. Heck, I don't even have to get out of my pajamas for work. But it's a beautiful life. I never understood how a friend of mine could say, "All I need to know is that Jesus loves me and that I belong to Him." I thought she was crazy. Because obviously, she needed to know about the deep things of theology and doctrine. She needed to know about the latest books or speakers out there. At least, that's what I thought.

Now I'm pretty sure my friend is onto something. The simplicity that has come into my life from moving away from all of that has been rather freeing, maybe even purifying somehow. I was reminded of that when I read about the latest kafuffle (how do you spell that anyway?!) in the evangelical church with a well known theologian and his comment on facebook. Five years ago, that would have mattered. I would have spent hours thinking, conversing, and writing about it. But now? Well, I read about it and then decided that I had other things I'd rather be doing. My husband put it well when he said that we're fixing our eyes on one Person. He's right. In this current season, I've found all the outer trappings of faith and daily life in a bigger town stripped away from me. And I've discovered something I didn't know was missing - a contentment and joy that sometimes surprises me with its sweetness.

I like this current season. I'm grateful for what (and Who) ushered it in. Do I still mourn all that was lost? You bet. But this current season takes that grief and wraps it up in hope and peace. And that's what makes the joy steal back in. That is a gift. And I'm grateful.

Let the Little Children Come

Jesus knew what He was saying when He told his disciples to let the kiddos come to Him. He valued them and loved them and He knew that they had a lot to contribute to the world now, while they were children, and not just later on when they grew up.

I was reminded of this today as a young friend was over for a baking day. She's had a long journey since the last time she was over to help out with my little one and do some baking. I was privileged to talk to her at this leg of her journey and was amazed at the wisdom and growth that she has gained in the midst of one of the biggest heartaches a person could ever face. As we talked about her story and her journey, she sounded like a seasoned counselor as she shared her perspective of grief. Honestly? I could have used this wisdom a long time ago when I was stumbling through trying to make sense of the part of her journey I shared. She knows more at 11 than I did at 36. And she probably has no idea, but she totally blessed me today with her words.

Jesus had it right. He knew we grown-ups would be so much richer for the time spent listening to a child. I sure am. And so is my little boy. He signed "please" the whole way home as he requested that she stay at our house longer after we'd already dropped her off.

Comfort When There Aren't Perfect Words

That Sunny Day In A Whole Different World

It seems like a lifetime ago. We were gathered at the home of one our fellow home group members for a picnic to celebrate the beginning of summer and the temporary end of meeting weekly. We were on a big property in the country, surrounded by trees and fields. The kids were all there laughing and playing and exploring. My little guy was being shared and passed around by the adoring girls who loved to love on him. I sat on a blanket and listened to this dad talk about his daughter's softball season and could hear the pride in his voice as he talked about her and the rest of the team he coached. I remember him stretched out on the grass, under the sunshine, with his hat perched a little over his eyes. He and the other guys were chatting about life and sports and things that mattered. He and his wife led our home group and invited us into their home every week.

I remember that man's wife taking her camera and sneaking around the trees to capture the kids playing on film. And when the owner of the property got out her vintage green truck to take the kids to the creek across a field, the man's wife - my friend - went along to capture some more memories. She got a lot of good pictures that day though I haven't seen them all. The smiles on the faces show a carefree innocence devoid of deep pain or loss.

We sat around in chairs and on the grass, talking and laughing, eating and enjoying being together. I remember thinking how grateful I was that this was my group, that these people had become my friends. And I remember thinking that this group was the answer to my prayers and wishes for a group where we could all grow together and do life together here on out. Contentment and gratitude filled me up and I felt a sense of belonging that was precious. Life seemed like it had come together at last, like I had a home. It felt complete. And not for one second did I even imagine anything could change that.

Not six months later though, life changed as we all knew it when the dad who was so proud of his daughter and her softball team died in a horrible car crash that also injured his family and broke all of our hearts. Everything has changed, and the memories that day that I accepted as a matter of course have become more precious than gold or diamonds. The fellowship that I planned on has become pretty much just a memory for now. Maybe one day things will be different and we'll find our place together again. I hope so. But it isn't happening right now. I never knew I could love and appreciate so much and lose the chance to share that.

The next time I make a memory like this, I hope I'll remember to take a moment and say thank you. Thank you for being my friend. Thank you for your fellowship and for letting me do life with you. Thank you for caring about my life and for letting me care about yours. Thank you for teaching me so much. Thank you for being an example. Just thank you. I'm grateful for you, for your life, for this community we're in together.

Something I Like Right Now

Frailty

It seems he knows me.
He said my name and knows the name of my husband and child.
But what else he thinks and knows and feels is a mystery.
The only thing I know for sure is that I love him.


Her heart is frail and out of rhythm.
Her mind is sharp though sometimes her vocabulary falters.
She determinedly continues on, strong beyond her body.
She loves and prays and endures.


I am their firstborn grandchild.
Swimming and fishing and playing and crafting are my memories.
They are my prayer warriors and my advice givers.
I do not know how to do this and tears fall from six eyes.


Frailty is not in the original blueprints.
Someday God will make all things new. He promised.
Vocabulary and vigor return.
I'll know how to do that and so will they.

They Did It

My hubby and his friend completed their marathon on Sunday. It was a beautiful day full of sunshine and breezes. I had a blast with our toddler as we cheered the runners on. There is something about a marathon that is full of profound pictures. I especially love the verse in Hebrews that talks about those who've gone before us to Heaven cheering those of us on who are still journeying through life. I got an earthly glimpse of that Sunday as I watched hundreds of people cheering on the thousands of runners, whether they knew them or not. I also got much food for thought as I watched dozens of senior citizens complete the marathon, some with times that beat men and women 40 years younger. It was a glorious day with a glorious finish, save for the remaining lactic acid that has yet to work its way out of my hubby's legs and the little sunburn that somehow painted my ankles a vibrant shade of hot pink.

I've got lots of thoughts going on and some things I would love to share when I can find words to fit. But for now, I need to get back to bed. Morning with a toddler comes too quickly these days. =)